


You Could Be the Best Thing About Me

by etcetera_kit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:47:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etcetera_kit/pseuds/etcetera_kit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak has made it to his junior year of high school under the radar, getting top grades to please his parents. Then a secret Santa starts leaving him notes and presents during midterm exams. Between his secret Santa and Dean Winchester, the annoying jock in his art class who won’t stop talking, his world begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Be the Best Thing About Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoisonWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonWrites/gifts).



> Thanks to my wolf pack for alpha and beta reading! Happy holidays, hot-blue-ice/peachstiel! The prompt was just too perfect to pass up!

**You Could Be the Best Thing About Me**

Midterm exams week had just begun and Castiel Novak felt he was going to throw up. He hated the extreme pressure of midterm exams. His family was full of scholars, all with prestigious degrees and impressive careers. Of his older brothers, one was a five-hundred-dollars an hour criminal defense attorney, one was a cardiac surgeon resident at Johns Hopkins and one had a master’s in business management and opened a multi-million dollar dotcom company. His older sister was currently studying abroad while working on a mathematics master’s degree.

If he got anything less than straight As… he hated midterms. One test became one-quarter of his total grade for the semester, and he had to recall every detail about what they had learned. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that his grades were so high for the rest of the year that he could completely skip midterms and still have at least a C in all his classes. But he usually drowned out that voice by screaming that his father would lock him in the attic for the rest of his life, just like in some morbid V.C. Andrews novel.

Today was first and seventh period classes. For him, that meant Latin and Art. He’d been shocked at the end of last year when his parents let him sign up for art. His father had just said that having some arts experience would make his college applications more rounded. But the art final was the only one he wasn’t petrified about—their teacher had just told them they’d take the time to work on some charcoal drawings. Participation meant full points. Latin on the other hand… Christ, his parents wanted him to take four years of Latin, just in case he went into medicine or an international career involving knowing multiple languages.

The school hall was teeming with students talking about midterms and their plans for the upcoming winter break. He dodged the other students, glad that he’d at least learned to be invisible by now, the middle of his junior year of high school.

He ducked around a jock talking to his girlfriend and got to his locked, thankfully unobstructed. He did his combination with shaking hands and yanked open the battered blue metal door.

And stopped slowly.

Like someone had slipped it through the ventilation slates on his locker, there was an envelope in his locker. Weirdly, the thing looked a little bulky. Who in the world would be putting envelopes in his locker? He grabbed the envelope. Cas was written in scrawled penmanship. Letting out a long breath, he ripped open the envelope. Inside were a Christmas card and a slightly smashed Hershey’s bar.

Inside the card was written:

_Cas, I know you’re stressed about midterms. I thought I’d leave you a pick-me-up in your locker everyday this week. Don’t worry about grades so much. You need to smile more. Your Secret Santa._

How in the hell did anyone know about his weakness for chocolate? His parents wouldn’t let him have sweets and all the money he earned from his part-time job went into a savings account. He never even had loose change for the vending machines.

Without realizing it at first, he soon figured out he was smiling slightly and blushing like hell.

Seeing as he only talked to the other students if he had to, he wasn’t sure who would leave him something like this, but he felt all warm. 

And suddenly didn’t feel terrified of the Latin midterm.

\--------------------

That afternoon, after lunch (which he didn’t feel like eating because the Latin midterm had been particularly brutal) in the Art midterm, he finally felt like he could breathe again. He slipped into the art room and to his table, dropped his backpack on the floor. Before he could take the few minutes before class started to put his head down and just close his eyes, his table partner, Dean Winchester, entered the room like he usually did—with a ridiculously huge burst of energy and tons of noise. Castiel could never figure out why Dean was in art. He was the quarterback of the football team and spent lunch hour surrounded by fellow jocks and cheerleaders. Unlike the rest of his friends, Dean seemed different, like he’d been through too much. But he still smiled and bullshit with the rest of them and, certainly, didn’t stop his asshole buddies from being, well, assholes.

“Hey Cas!” Dean said, loudly, dropping into his seat.

“Hi,” he responded weakly.

“I had Algebra II this morning,” Dean continued, pulling his drawing pad out of his backpack. He shuddered dramatically. “Completely sucked. I mean, who cares about letters with numbers?”

“Algebra isn’t hard,” Cas mumbled.

Dean gave him an appraising look. “You’re good at math?”

“Not really.”

“Good. I’m getting you to help me next semester.”

“What?”

“What final did you have this morning?”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, frowning at Dean. “Latin.”

Dean grimaced, slapping his pack of charcoal pencils onto the table. “That sounds brutal. Dead languages, man. I don’t know how you do it. I barely got through two years of Spanish.”

“Oh.”

And the sad part was… most of their conversations went like this. Dean would keep up the mindless chatter throughout the entire class, usually not when the teacher was giving instructions, but Castiel was pretty much convinced that Dean just relied on him to convey directions. He didn’t know why Dean insisted on talking to him. Earlier that year, Dean had even tried to get him to sit at his lunch table, but Castiel just made excuses about going to the library. Why would he want to sit at a lunch table with a bunch of jerks who harassed him in junior high?

“But my younger brother, I mean, that kid is a genius. He’s only in seventh grade, but already completed one year of Spanish. Crazy. I’m always bragging on him.”

That was also true—Dean was extremely proud of his younger brother. Many of their one-sided conversations included a lot of information about Sam, who Castiel couldn’t help but get to know through all the stories.

“Then again, that little shit is in junior high—no midterms.” Dean turned to Castiel. “Which finals do you have tomorrow?”

“Physics and Calculus.”

“Oh man! I’m sorry! That blows.”

Dean actually did look sympathetic. Which was weird. Dean was all sandy blonde hair, sun-kissed skin and gorgeous green eyes. He was built like any athlete, but always looked a little like he was sure how he got to be a popular football star. And, oh yeah, something else he didn’t talk to his parents about—not that he made a habit of talking to his parents—but he had a ridiculous crush on Dean. However, staying invisible meant not admitting to liking boys more than girls.

“—I mean, do you sleep? That’s crazy, man.”

“Er, what?” Castiel tuned back into the conversation.

“You’re in all these advanced classes and get As in all of them. When do you find the time to sleep?”

Castiel stared at Dean. “I’m not sure.”

“Want to take a nap during this exam? I’m sure you’re already got a million drawings you can turn in.” Dean was grinning. “I’ll cover for you.”

He frowned. “No, I think I should participate.”

Dean’s grin melted into a warm smile, as Castiel pulled out his own drawing pad and charcoal pencils. The football star gestured to his notebook. “Can I see?”

“I—“

“If you’ve been drawing me again, it’s okay. I’m kind of flattered.”

Castiel would never understand that about Dean. Early on in the drawing unit, Dean had physically grabbed Castiel’s drawing notebook away from him to look at his sketches. Some were the still life they were supposed to work on. The rest were sketches of Dean from class. Dean had just whistled softly as he went through the drawings. “These are damn good,” he’d said then. “You ever thought about being an artist?”

Without answering, he slid his notebook across the table to Dean. He flipped through the notebook to the more recent drawings. Castiel felt himself blush furiously as Dean got to one drawing where Dean, himself, was shirtless. Or, at least, Castiel’s approximation thereof. Dean’s smile widened back into a grin. He shut the notebook and slid it back across the table.

“I should model for you sometime,” he said so softly that only Castiel could hear. “I promise you that the real thing is much better.”

Between the note and chocolate, and Dean, this day was looking up. And as much as he was freaked out about his midterms tomorrow, at least something good had happened today.

\--------------------

The next morning started out badly. He overslept. And because his parents believed he should earn the money to buy a car (which was ridiculous because they were making him put all his money in a college fund), he missed the bus. School wasn’t far from the house, but far enough that he had to plan if he was going to make the walk. 

His second period midterm—Physics—started at 7:30 and it was already 7:05. Crap, crap, crap!

He stuffed his things into his backpack and grabbed the first shirt and pants he found. He then jammed his feet into his Converses and ran outside, slamming the house door behind him. He was going to be late and his teacher wouldn’t let him take the final and he’d get a C and his father would lock him in the attic or something… shit!

He jumped down the porch steps and started to run down the sidewalk.

_HONK!_

He glanced towards the honking car and did a double-take. Dean? Only Dean drove a big, black classic car that he’d restored with his dad. His car was the other source of his pride, outside of his little brother. Unfortunately, taking that double-look caused him to lose footing on the slippery sidewalk and he wiped out, falling flat on his butt.

Dull pain radiated throughout his body. And the cold sidewalk just reminded him that he hadn’t dressed warmly enough for the weather.

“Dude! Are you all right?”

Dean. Of course. The other boy had pulled his car up to the curb and gotten out. His green eyes looked concerned as he frowned.

Castiel tentatively tried to get up. Dean immediately lunged forward and grabbed his forearms, helping him get to his feet. Castiel tested his balance. He was fine—just bruised and now embarrassed that Dean had seen him go down. “I’m fine,” he said softly.

“Well, hop in my car. We’ll get there faster. Plus my senior buddy has an exemption today and is letting me use his parking space.”

Which meant that the parking spot would be much closer to the school building. And Dean could drive them there in about five minutes. (As he tried not to dwell on how soft and warm Dean’s ungloved hands felt against his skin.) He followed Dean to the car, slipping into the passenger seat. At least Dean hadn’t been lying, the car was warm. Dean slid behind the wheel and they were off to school.

“Overslept?” Dean asked warmly as he guided the car onto the street.

“Yes,” Castiel replied softly.

“Your parents don’t wake you up?”

“Your parents do?”

Dean grinned. “Technically, no, but my dad heads out for the garage at 6:30, so he gives me the final kick out of bed, if I need it.”

That was another thing Castiel had learned about Dean through their one-sided conversations in art class—Dean’s mother had died in a house fire when he was four years old. He didn’t remember much about her, and his dad had taken her death hard. But despite the tragedy, his dad worked incredibly hard to provide for his sons. He owned a local garage and had been saving money since Dean and Sam had been born to send them to college. Dean had admitted one time that he’d probably go to University of Kansas, just to be close, keep the tuition costs down and be able to help out. In between football and a million other things, Dean helped at his dad’s garage and also worked part-time at a local diner. And Dean though Castiel didn’t sleep?

“What about your siblings?”

Dean’s voice drew Castiel from his reverie. He shook his head. “My older brothers do not live in the state anymore. My sister is at college at Harvard.”

“Just you then?”

“Yeah, and my parents.”

“Is it quiet?”

Before he could stop himself, Castiel replied, “It’s lonely.” He caught his slip and added quickly, “They are very strict.”

And as much as he hoped that Dean wouldn’t pick up on his first answer, he knew that the other boy was way more perceptive than that.

“I figured,” Dean replied. “From what you’ve told me.”

“Your dad isn’t?”

Dean shrugged. “He’s a former Marine. Just means he’s a rough, tough creampuff. He acts all gruff, but Sam and I get away with a lot of shit.”

Castiel smiled. “That must be nice.”

“It’s kind of fun. I just worry about Dad a lot. I mean, Sam’s probably going to go across the country to some fancy Ivy League school, and my dad will be here all alone—grandparents are gone and Dad doesn’t have siblings.”

“You’ll be here.”

“Yeah. Although he wants me to go to college.” Dean gave him a sidelong look as he pulled into the queue to turn into the school parking lot. “What about you? You thought about college.”

“Yes.”

“Any decisions.”

“No.”

“Well, if you want my opinion that you didn’t ask for, you should go to art school.”

“My parents would not allow it.”

“If you get a full ride, your parents can’t stop you.”

Castiel didn’t reply, just stared at Dean. He’d never thought of college quite that way before. Hell, he’d never even thought about what he wanted to major in. He assumed his father would tell him to study science or math or business or something else that would lead to a prestigious career. Did art schools even give full ride scholarships?

“I know I’m amazing, but I don’t usually make people stop talking,” Dean said, a light teasing tone to his voice, as he pulled into what Castiel assumed was his senior friend’s parking place.

“I just never thought of that before.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, well. It’s what I’m here for.” He gestured to the crowd hurrying into the school building. “Better get a move on. I know you go to your locker like clockwork before class every morning.”

Castiel opened the door, glancing back at Dean. “You coming?”

“Nah. I have study hall second period. I’m going to hit the library and try to actually read the Faulkner novel from English.”

“Really?”

“It was the one novel where I couldn’t find the Cliff’s Notes or the Classic Comics.”

Castiel just shook his head. “Thanks for the ride!”

“No problem!” Dean called after him.

He hurried down the hallway to his locker. The five minute warning bell rang, meaning he had limited time to get to his locker and then book it upstairs for the Physics midterm. He did his combination quickly and yanked open his locker.

Somehow, in all the fuss about oversleeping and going to school with Dean, he forgot about his secret Santa. Another package had been placed in his locker, although this one looked like his locker had been opened, rather than slipping something through the vents. He dumped the textbooks in his backpack into his locker, picking up the Physics and Calculus books. He then picked up the package—an envelope had been taped to a package of oil pastels, a medium he didn’t usually use.

Using one hand, he opened the envelope.

_Cas, I know you love art and you’re great with charcoal pencils, so I thought you might like to try oil pastels. Just think—this time on Friday, we’ll be done with midterms and out of school until January! Keep your head up. You’ll do great on midterms! Your Secret Santa._

That day, instead of going to the library at lunch, he found an empty table. Ducking into a seat, he pulled out his drawing pad and the new oil pastels. Despite his best efforts, his drawings kept morphing into Dean.

\--------------------

The next morning, his alarm clock when off at a volume much higher than normal, scaring him into awareness. He flailed, trying to stop the noise and ended up knocking over the stack of books on his nightstand. Finally gaining equilibrium, he shut off the alarm clock and leaned over the side of his bed, looking at the books on the floor. His history textbook, along with the novels on the English midterm and a few novels of his own.

He glanced at _Almost Like Being in Love_ on the floor, a novel his parents did not know he had.   
What did it matter? Dean just thought he was a weird friend—probably. Or Dean just felt really sorry for him, which was worse than the weird friend. And this whole secret Santa thing was probably… 

He flopped back down on his bed. The secret Santa knew him too well. He did not make it a habit to talk to people, so he didn’t know who did know him well enough for something like this. Who liked him this much? Until two days ago, he would have said no one.

Sighing, he went through the motions of getting dressed and gathering his materials for the day. English and history. The first semester of English had been a particularly brutal mixture of American literature and some sadistic grammar review. History was fairly straightforward. History was first and he felt better about that exam than English. Books, netbook and notes in his backpack, he looked around his room and put his art supplies in his bag, along with both the notes from his secret Santa.

A little while later, he was waiting for the bus, on time like a normal person.

In no time, he was at school and the ride the other morning with Dean seemed like a dream, far off and hazy. The crowds in the halls were thinner—most of the seniors saved their exam exemptions until the last days of the week to add more days to vacation. Hence, the lighter crowds. Mostly freshman and sophomores who avoided upperclassmen anyways.

He went to his locker and glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes until the start of the third period exam. He opened the locker and then wasn’t sure why he was surprised to find another envelope in his locker—this envelope was bulky, but not like the first one of the week. Smiling, he ripped open the envelope. A nondescript USB drive fell out.

The card read:

_Cas, It might be a little cliché, but these songs remind me of you. Four exams down and four to go! I know you’re lonely, but just know that you’re really not alone. I’m looking out for you. Good luck today and take some time this morning to listen to the songs. Your Secret Santa._

Still nineteen minutes until his third period exam.

Grabbing the envelope and jump drive, he hurried down the hall to the library. He waved to the librarian and found a table in the back corner. He pulled out his netbook and headphones. A minute later, he was listening to the songs on the USB drive.

_Almost Like Being in Love._

_Light My Fire._

_Leaving on a Jet Plane._

Someone knew him way too well and, instead of being disturbed, he went into his first midterm of day with a smile on his face.

\--------------------

“Hey Cas! Need a ride home!”

Castiel had been walking out of the library, intending to make the walk home. Tomorrow, he had his debate exam, which would not be a problem. The reason he’d been in the library was his zero hour (or eighth period, as all the students called it, which took place after school three days a week), Mandarin Chinese. His father thought that the class would be good, in case he went into international business or some other career that needed lots of foreign language experience. Right now, the extra class was just pushing him closer to daily panic attacks.

Dean had pulled up to the sidewalk along the library.

“Sure,” Castiel replied. Ride with Dean or make the twenty-five minute walk home? The sky was cloudy, threatening to snow. And he did not want to get caught in the bad weather. Only in Kansas. He walked up to the car and slid into the passenger seat.

“How were the exams?” Dean asked. “English and history, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel turned to Dean. “Which did you have today?”

“Just English. Athletics was kind of a throw-away exam. We ran drills the whole morning.” Dean made a face as he pulled the car onto the street. “Look, I was going to stop by Harvelle’s for some coffee and pie before heading home. I’ve got history tomorrow. Sammy was going to help me go over dates and stuff.”

“You want me to go get coffee with you? Where you work?”

“Yeah. I hang out there all the time.”

“No wonder they hired you.”

“Shut-up. I’m adorable. You want coffee and pie or not? I’m buying,” he wheedled.

Castiel could always tell his parents that he stayed late in the library after school. That excuse was plausible.

And he supposed that’s how he found himself at Harvelle’s, tucked away in a corner booth, letting the ceramic coffee mug warm his hands.

Dean was sitting across from him, one arm slung over the back of the booth, other hand idly tracing the coffee mug’s handle. He smiled. “You look more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you—and you still have two more exams!”

“Debate is not a problem. Mandarin will be difficult.”

“Man, when you said you were in eighth period, I couldn’t believe it. That’s just hard core.” Dean gave him an appraising look. “Are you sure you sleep?”

“Do you?” he countered.

“Touché,” Dean replied, raising his mug in a slight salute before taking a sip. “So what are your plans for the break?”

Castiel shrugged. “Not much. My parents are traveling to see my older siblings.”

“And they’re leaving you at home?” Dean looked appalled.

“Yes. I’m supposed to study.”

“You could come to my house for Christmas. We sleep late, eat a big breakfast, open presents, make turkey, watch movies, play Monopoly and have Sam wipe the floor with us.”

Castiel smiled. “That sounds fun.”

“Usually is. Until the Monopoly part.” Dean grinned. “I bet you could give that little brat a run for his money.”

“I haven’t played Monopoly in a long time. Not since Gabriel went to college.”

“How old were you when he went to college?”

“Eight.”

“Eight?” Dean whistled. “Then it’s settled. You’re coming to my house.”

“Will your dad mind?”

“Nah. He brings all kinds of people along on Christmas—you know, people who don’t have anywhere else to go. Uncle Bobby, Pam, maybe Ellen and Jo.”

For someone who didn’t have any family, who Dean worried about constantly, his dad seemed to have a lot of family friends. Pastor Jim, Caleb—the list went on and on. And Dean probably didn’t even realize that he was listing all these people who were a part of his family’s life. Castiel’s own parents went to church every Sunday like clockwork and went to lots of charity balls and fundraisers, along with traveling to visit his older siblings. But nothing like Dean was describing.

If Castiel wanted to be honest with himself, the last time he’d really had fun had been when Gabriel was still around. Even though Gabriel had been in high school, he still took the time to play games with Castiel, take him for ice cream or to the park. But that had been a long time ago.

“But at any rate,” Dean said. “It’s settled. You’re coming to my house for Christmas.”

“I don’t have gifts for you all,” he protested weakly.

Dean waved the excuse away. “We don’t need gifts. Just show up. Bring a side dish if you think of it, but we always have too much food.”

At that moment, a blonde girl brought their slices of pie. Dean smiled at her, but not in the way that he or his teammates might look at a cheerleader. He looked almost doting, like the girl was a little sister. “Thanks, Jo,” he said.

“You could have gotten your own pie,” she groused.

“I have company,” Dean shot back.

“Oh whatever.”

She walked off. Dean just shook his head and nodded towards the pie. “Best apple pie in the state. You’ll swear you died and went to heaven.”

Between the mix tape and coffee with Dean, Castiel was pretty sure he didn’t need the pie.

\--------------------

The last morning of midterms dawn bright and clear. His alarm clock was back to a normal volume, so he didn’t crash everything to the floor. He laid in bed for a few minutes, just thinking about how much had happened in the last three days. He had a secret Santa. Dean had paid attention to him outside of art class. Neither of which he understood, even three days later. 

Dean was all sunny afternoon, with an easy grin and enough charm to get any girl (or boy, he supposed) that he wanted. Castiel had no idea why he wanted to spend time with him—he was pale with messy dark hair and blue eyes. He really was invisible to most everyone at school. He just hoped that Dean was not playing some cruel prank on him. 

He got out of bed slowly.

Today was just debate. And the Mandarin midterm.

Shit.

From the moment he’d gotten home from coffee with Dean until one in the morning, he’d been studying for the Mandarin midterm. Which meant he’d gotten less than five hours of sleep. Which was not necessarily a good thing. His eyes felt hot and gritty, and his whole body ached. He knew he felt like this at the end of every week of exams, but this just felt worse. (He hadn’t felt that way around Dean, but he was not quite ready to admit that to himself.)

He glanced at the clock. Still enough time to take a shower.

The hot water could only do so much to revive him. After the shower, he quickly dried off and got dressed. The house was empty when he went downstairs—his parents had taken the red eye flight to New York to see his eldest brother. He already had the house to himself. His parents had the house decorated for their annual Christmas party, but that had been a week ago, and all the decorations were already down. The house seemed bare—too big and depressing.

The bus ride to school was uneventful, other than the drilling he kept doing for the midterm that afternoon.

He wasn’t surprised to find another envelope in his locker.

Smiling to himself, he opened the envelope and pulled out the card and folded up piece of paper inside. The paper was thicker drawing paper. He unfolded it.

The paper was a charcoal drawing of him.

Granted, much cruder than something he would have produced, but still with a lot of detail and care. No mistaking the subject of the drawing. Who was taking the time to draw him? He felt himself blushing and his heart rate going up.

The card read:

_Cas, I hope you’ve enjoyed everything this week. I wanted you to have the drawing so you know that you’re not the only one with a subject that inspires him. Can you meet me after the eighth period midterm this afternoon? In the library courtyard. I have something I want to ask you in person. Your secret Santa._

Meet? Did he want to meet his secret Santa and find out that this was all a joke? He wasn’t sure—all he knew was that his secret Santa knew a little too much about him, things that most people he had classes with wouldn’t know.

The library courtyard would be deserted after the zero hour midterm. At least, if this all went south, he could be humiliated in private, and everyone would have two and a half weeks to find something else to fixate on.

Odd, the decision really wasn’t that hard.

\--------------------

There was only one person in the courtyard when he got there after the Mandarin midterm (that, if he really admitted it, he didn’t care about because he’d been too busy obsessing about this meeting after school.) He slowed to a halt when he saw who was in the courtyard.

“Dean?”

The other boy smiled. “Hey Cas.”

“What are you doing here?” Castiel paused before continuing quickly, “Are you meeting someone?”

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly. “You.”

“Me?” Castiel stared at him, realization slowly dawning. “You’re my secret Santa?”

“Yeah, I thought the notes might have given it away.”

“The notes—“

But he stopped himself. No one else called him ‘Cas.’ His older siblings and parents didn’t even shorten his name. Dean was the only one who did that. And Dean must have seen him reading _Almost Like Being in Love_ in art class one day. Dean knew that he loved to draw. And he must have mentioned the chocolate to Dean in one of their conversations.

“It was pretty easy to figure out you like chocolate,” Dean said. “Every time I’d have some in class, you’d practically salivate.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean took a step closer to him. “I’m sorry, because I couldn’t grow a pair sooner and admit that I really like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah. You’re pretty amazing.”

“I’m boring.”

“No. _I’m_ boring.”

“No you’re not!”

Dean was full-on grinning now. “So let’s just agree that we both think we’re boring.” He paused, taking another step. Castiel could feel the heat from his body now.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I really like you too.”

Those green eyes and freckles were the only thing Castiel saw as Dean closed the distance between them, threading one arm around his waist and running his other gloved hand through his hair. Dean looked to his lips, wetting his own, and leaned down. All he really registered was how soft Dean’s lips were and how much he didn’t want that simple, chaste kiss to end.

In a daze, he ended up at Dean’s house. They came through the front door, Dean calling a greeting to his father, who was in the kitchen going through the newspaper.

“Hey Dad! This is my friend, Cas.”

His dad looked up from the paper. “Your friend or your boyfriend?”

“Dad!” Dean looked horrified. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, because as far as you are concerned, this entire house is the champagne room. And you know the rules.”

“No sex in the champagne room,” Dean muttered. 

Castiel looked at him quizzically.

“Don’t ask.”

Dean’s room was small and warm, with wood tones, posters from bands and sports trophies. They ended up laying on the bed, just lazily kissing as the afternoon wore into evening and shadows crept across the room.

His father was going to kill him.

But he could handle that. Three days ago, he was just Castiel Novak. Now, he was Cas and he had Dean. And no matter what else happened, he was keeping both.


End file.
